


Fool For You

by Imoshen



Series: SPN ABO Bingo 2019 [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha!Ketch, Alpha!Sam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ball Gag, Bondage, Bottom Sam, D/s mention, Dean and Mick plot, Impact Play, M/M, Mafia Boss Ketch, Mafia Boss Sam, Mating Bites, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Riding Crop, Top Ketch, and possibly fucked, bottom Ketch mention, do not copy to another site, human!AU, idiots falling in love, mafia!au, oblivious dorks, public mating, they're not telling, top Sam mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22959673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imoshen/pseuds/Imoshen
Summary: Sam meets a stranger in a club one night. The next day, he finds out just who he took to bed. Things escalate from there.
Relationships: Arthur Ketch/Sam Winchester
Series: SPN ABO Bingo 2019 [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1340272
Comments: 22
Kudos: 49





	1. Met You At The Letter's Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for SPN A/B/O Bingo for the square Oral Sex  
> Written for the Sam Winchester Bingo for the square Bondage  
> Written fort the SPN Kink Bingo 2020 for the square Bondage  
> Written for the SPN Rare Ship Bingo 2020 for the square Omegaverse.

There are definite advantages to visiting a city you’re not _the_ Alpha in charge of, Sam muses, sipping his drink.

One of those advantages is that not everyone in this club was immediately aware of who he is and fell all over themselves to please him. Sure, the barkeeper was smiling and flirty, but that’s his job. Sam smiled and flirted back, took his drink and plopped his ass down in one of the comfortable club chairs to watch the other club visitors.

It’s obvious the _Letter’s Club_ caters to a clientele that has money to burn and is very interested in remaining unobserved by the public eye. There is naked skin on display as is in every other club, but here the clothes are finely tailored, and the jewelry is expensive enough others could buy a modest house with it.

What’s notably absent aside from nosy paparazzi is the sweet, cloying scent Sam has come to associate with chemically induced heats or ruts. He approves of that almost more than of the no paparazzi rule.

The music changes, as does the crowd on the dance floor. Sam sips his drink and watches. He wants a little stress relief, has wanted it for the past week or so, but there was no time in between flying all over the country. His late father had offended quite a few people with his bid for power, and now it’s Sam’s job to soothe ruffled feathers – or make sure other families understand that he can and _will_ hold territory they claimed. His last meeting is tomorrow, with the leader of the last family. It’s the one closest to home, and potentially the most important one.

He’s stressed and he knows he needs to take the edge off, but he’s out of his usual options. Brady died almost a year ago during the first open hostilities, and since then he’s been running around like a headless chicken. Sam really hopes someone here will catch his eye – even if it’s just for vanilla sex and not what he really needs.

He’s learned to make do.

He didn’t allow anyone to accompany him – and Dean would throw an absolute _fit_ if he knew, but Sam’s beyond giving a fuck and he swallowed a mild scent blocker to be on the safe side – but Sam’s more than capable of taking care of himself. His instincts tell him there’s someone approaching from his left before the man steps into his peripheral line of sight. It’s obviously a conscious gesture, a courtesy one predator grants to another. Sam sips his drink and turns just a little, enough to let the other Alpha know he’s been noticed, and his approach is welcomed.

The other Alpha sinks down into the chair across Sam’s with the kind of grace Sam recognizes from his brother, from Cas, from himself. This man knows how to fight, but for now his posture is relaxed and open. Something about him is familiar, but Sam can’t quite place him. “I was going to wait and ask if I could buy you a drink once you’d finished that one,” the Alpha says, “but I think we’d both end up frustrated if I waited for that.”

Sam blinks, glances down at his glass, and has to smile. “I prefer being mostly sober if I consider dancing,” he admits. “Personal preference.”

The Alpha’s lips twitch into a smirk. “Dancing,” he repeats with a quick glance to the glowstick wrapped around Sam’s wrist. It’s still a bright purple, indicating he’s looking for Alpha and male. “Nice euphemism.”

Sam laughs and relaxes despite the calculating gaze. “I have an older brother,” he says. “I needed to not have him come along and offer ‘helpful insights’.”

The smirk goes back to a wry smile. “Point,” the other man agrees, taking a sip of his drink. Sam notices he’s not wearing any sort of glowstick. “Do you have a name, Oh Sneaky One?”

“Jay,” Sam says, giving the name he usually goes by with strangers. He takes the hand offered and shakes it.

“Nice to meet you, Jay. I’m Art,” his possible date for the night says. His handshake is firm and warm, and Sam hides a shiver.

They exchange a few more pleasantries, but Sam’s very conscious of the way Art’s gaze moves over his body. He’s pretty certain he’s being undressed in the other man’s mind, and he finds he’s not bothered by the thought.

Quite the contrary.

Art seems to read his mind – or maybe he notices the way Sam starts shifting just a little in his seat. His mouth slips back into that small smirk, and fuck if that isn’t sexy. He sets his drink down and leans forward, drawing Sam into doing the same. Art’s voice is just low enough to be heard over the music. “You said you wanted to dance?”

Sam nods, and that’s how he finds himself in the mess of bodies on the dance floor. In this, the club is just like any other club he’s been to – too warm, too close, too loud but at the same time, perfect. Sam’s taller than his partner, but that doesn’t matter. Not with the way Art pulls him in, his hands sure and strong as they hold Sam in place against him. The people around them cease to be important in any way as Art guides Sam into moving with him, against him. He grins when Sam dares to put his hands on him, wild and sharp.

It turns into something that’s less dancing and more fully-clothed, very public foreplay. Art’s hands angle Sam’s hips until he’s rubbing against the other man’s hip with every move, and he’d blush if it wasn’t for the hardness rubbing against his own hip. He wants, and apparently, he’s not the only one. A hand in his hair tugs his head down, and the hot breath against his neck has him swallow a moan.

“What do you say, should we move this somewhere more private?”

Sam swallows and nods. “Please.”

Art takes the lead – and Sam’s hand – through the club, up a narrow staircase, and into a surprisingly spacious and empty lobby. “Private hotel rooms,” the other man tells him once they’ve left the music and noise of the club behind. He doesn’t let go of Sam’s hand as he inputs some kind of digital key into a computer terminal and receives a keycard. He leads Sam up another set of stairs and into a room Sam doesn’t get too much of a look at. As soon as the door slams shut behind them, he’s being pulled forward and into a kiss that’s hungry and demanding. His back hits the door, and Sam moans and _melts._

“That’s what I thought,” Art growls against his mouth. Teeth nip at his lip, then suck on the small hurt. “Want to be taken, little Alpha?”

Sam shivers and bucks against the thigh that’s suddenly pressed against his cock. “Yes,” he admits, feels his cheeks grow hot. There are two ways this can go, but he doesn’t think Art’s the type to pull back and mock him or go too far. He’s proven right when the other man groans a little and presses a hard kiss to his mouth before he pulls back. Sam’s low whine of protest earns him a smirk, but it’s a warm one. Art tugs him through the room and to the bed. A gentle shove and Sam willingly goes sprawling on the mattress, looking up at his lover for the night. Art’s suit is a little rumpled, his hair just a little messy, and the line of his erection is obvious in his pants. It’s hot as all fuck, and Sam bites his lower lip and reaches down to palm his own dick through his pants.

“Oh no, little Alpha.” Art’s voice has dropped into a low growl that raises goosebumps on Sam’s skin. The other man crawls onto the bed and over Sam, strong fingers curl around his wrists and guide his hands up over his head. “No touching yourself. That’s mine for tonight.”

Sam moans and shivers, his cock jumping in his pants. He always had a thing for dominant bed partners, for all hat he rarely gets to indulge.

“Get naked,” the Alpha tells him roughly, squeezing his wrists once. “I want to see all of you.”

As soon as his hands are free, Sam scrambles to obey. He sheds his jacket and tie, unbuttons his shirt and is grateful he’s decided against carrying any weapons tonight. There’d be no way he’d be able to hide a blade sheath or a gun holster, not with Art’s hungry gaze on him. He’s naked in what might be a new personal record, his clothes thrown in the vague direction of a chair.

His whole attention is on Art, on the way the man looks at him as if he’s the first meal after a long fast.

“Gods, you’re pretty,” the other Alpha purrs. He’s shed his suit jacket and tie, and the top few buttons of his shirt are undone, but otherwise he’s still fully dressed. It’s hotter than Sam thought was possible, and it gets only worse when Art takes his wrists and pushes him onto his back again. He bites his lower lip hard and his cock twitches against his belly when he tries to push against that hold and Art doesn’t budge an inch. _Fuck_ , the other man can truly hold him down.

Art’s eyes flick over his body, pause at Sam’s erection. “If I’d known you like being restrained so much, I’d have picked a different room,” he says, and his voice has gone dark and rough and sexy as hell. Sam whines low in his throat, tugging on his hold again just to feel his grip tighten. It earns him a curse, and then he’s being kissed again, hard and demanding. Art kisses him as if he could fuck his mouth with his tongue, and Sam’s dizzy with want and need. He shifts to wrap his legs around his partner’s hips, and his thigh rubs against the cool leather of Art’s belt.

An idea forms in what’s left of his mind, and as soon as Art lets him breathe, he gasps it out. “Your belt,” he rasps. “Please, Art.” He pulls against the man’s hold on his wrists again and is treated to a rough curse and Art’s hips rocking into him once, hard.

“You sure, sweet thing?” the Brit asks, his dark gaze on Sam’s face. Sam nods, licks his lips and gathers his courage.

“I want you to tie me up with it,” he breathes and watches that gaze darken even further. “And then I want you. Please, Alpha.”

A growl from deep within Art’s chest, then the Alpha sits back on his heels and hurriedly opens his belt, pulls it from the loops of his pants. The inner side is almost warm against Sam’s skin when it wraps around his wrists.

“Give me your safeword,” Art breathes against his ear once his wrists are tied above his head, cinched together by strong leather.

“Clowns,” Sam murmurs, blushing a little. It’s a little ridiculous, a grown man being afraid of clowns, but it makes for an effective safeword. Art kisses his cheek, surprisingly tender.

“Clowns it is,” he agrees. “If you can’t speak, I want you to shake your head three times and I’ll stop, okay?”

Sam nods, relaxing even further. He may have taken a stupid risk, letting a virtual stranger tie him up like this, but his instincts seem to have been right once again. Art kisses his cheek again, then his nose, then he’s kissing Sam again, open-mouthed and greedy.

“I want all of you,” the Alpha breathes against Sam’s lips, running his hands down Sam’s sides. His fingers grip and squeeze at Sam’s hips. “Can I have all of you, sweet thing?”

Sam moans and nods. Right now, he’d give Art everything he asks for.

The other Alpha seems to be determined to drive him insane. Strong hands stroke and knead at his ass while Art kisses and licks his way down Sam’s throat – pausing to suck teasingly at the spot where an Omega’s scent gland would sit, and Sam can’t help the low, needy whine drawn from his throat. Art laughs hoarsely and nips at the spot before he continues his way down, pausing just a moment at Sam’s nipples to bite and suck before…

“Fuck!” Sam gasps out, trying to arch up and finding himself pinned firmly to the bed by Art’s hands. The Alpha grins up at him and licks his cock.

“Later,” he’s promised before that teasing mouth swallows him down.

Sam _doesn’t_ scream, but it’s a close thing. He does tug on his bonds and try to arch into Art’s mouth, but he’s securely pinned to the mattress as his partner really sets to work, licking and sucking until Sam’s panting and gasping out soft little moans and pleas for more. Art pulls off with a careful scrape of teeth that has Sam yelp, and oh fuck he looks even hotter now with his lips red and swollen and shiny. Sam’s cock twitches.

“You said I could have all of you,” Art says, and his voice is a hoarse rasp that does things to Sam’s insides, “can I fuck you, pretty pet?”

Sam nods immediately, spreading his legs even wider. He’d blush over how eager he is, but it’s been weeks since he had anyone in his bed, and it’s been months since he had anyone in his bed who handled him the way Art does, so strong and confident and almost familiar.

Art groans and gives another lick to Sam’s cock before he goes to rummage through the drawer of the beside table, coming up with lube and a condom. Sam suppresses a whine – he doesn’t like the latex barriers, but he’s not stupid enough to do random hookups without them.

The first lube-slick finger sliding into him draws a harsh, needy noise from Sam that has Art’s eyes darken even further. “How long has it been since someone took care of you, little Alpha?” he purrs, sliding that finger in and out so damn slowly. Sam licks his lips.

“…months?” he guesses, his voice so hoarse, so needy. Art tuts and licks his cock again.

“Poor little thing, no wonder you’re so hungry for it.” Another lick, a deeper thrust of that single finger. “I’ll take care of you, pet, fill you up so good.”

One finger becomes two, Sam moaning and trembling as he’s worked open with insistent skillful touches. Each lick to his cock has him twitch around the fingers in his hole, which earns him another lick. He’s half-mad with sheer lust by the time the fingers slide free, leaving him open and empty. Sam whines.

“Hush, little Alpha,” Art’s voice has gone even rougher where he croons into Sam’s ear. “Going to fill you up with my cock now, little one, I can smell how bad you need it. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

Sam moans and arches into the warmth of the strong body covering him. “Please,” he manages, “please Alpha, need it so bad, please fill me up please!”

Art hushes him with a kiss, deep and greedy, and then there’s pressure at Sam’s hole again, and Sam moans into the kiss as he’s filled, his body stretching around the girth of the cock pushing into him. He wraps his legs around Art’s waist and moans again when he realizes the man’s still almost fully dressed.

Art keeps kissing him until his hips are flush with Sam’s ass before he lets him up for air, and Sam stares up into those dark eyes, gasps in a few breaths, and then clenches down around the hard cock in his hole. “ _Fuck me_ ,” he breathes, and Art grins.

“As you wish, little Alpha.”

Sam wakes slowly, stretching himself awake. He’s deliciously sore in a few places, reminding him of last night – his wrists are just a little bruised, just enough he’ll feel it if he applies a little pressure. His hole is deliciously sore from the two rounds of fucking Art put him through – they both hadn’t been sated by the first, so Sam had ended up riding the other man to another orgasm, his hole stretched open even further on Art’s knot.

Showering removes the lingering scent of blackberries, bourbon and honey that Art left him with, and Sam sighs a little sadly and resigns himself to the necessity.

His suit for the day is already hanging outside his cupboard, waiting for him.

Time to return to the real world.


	2. Honey and Blackberries And Bourbon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for SPN A/B/O Bingo for the square Honey, Blackberries, Bourbon  
> Written for Sam Winchester Bingo for the square Mafia Boss!Sam

The hotel that was chosen to host the meeting with the family controlling the city is far, far from where yesterday’s club is located, which is why Sam absolutely isn’t prepared for the faint scent of honey, blackberries and bourbon to linger in the elegantly quiet hotel lobby. For a moment he thinks he’s mistaken, but he _knows_ this scent after all but rolling around in it last night. He shrugs it off, conscious of Dean and Bobby at his back and of the fact that there’ll already be eyes on them, and he can’t afford any distractions.

Coincidence is a bitch, and maybe Art had a room here.

They are greeted by Mick Davies, who’s been their main contact since they re-established a working communication with the family after all the upheaval of the past year. Past several grim-faced, definitely armed men and women in suits, into a brightly lit conference room on one of the upper levels of the building – and it’s not a coincidence. As soon as the heavy, sound-proof door opens, the scent hits Sam with full force.

Honey, blackberries, bourbon.

The man sitting at the head of the table, impeccably groomed, is painfully familiar after last night.

_Fuck_.

Sam goes through the motions of introducing Dean and Bobby, glad the familiar ritual gives him a moment to pull himself together. No use wondering if any of last night was planned to put him in exactly this position. All he can do is cling to his dignity, act as if he hasn’t met Arthur Ketch before and all but begged for his cock, and hope the man doesn’t plan to humiliate him today.

It’s going to be a long day.

The scent of honey, blackberries and bourbon follows Sam out of the room after a long day of negotiating. He thinks he did good, Bobby looks happy at least and he’d caught Mick Davies looking impressed once or twice, but fuck he’s exhausted. Later, he’ll blame that for the fact that he doesn’t notice the reason why that scent won’t fade with distance only when he’s back in his own hotel room, shrugging out of his suit jacket and reaching into his pocket to check if he has anything in there.

A small, neatly folded piece of paper is waiting for him, once that he certainly didn’t put there himself. It smells of Ketch, and Sam flashes back to the handshake the man offered when they parted.

_“I am looking forward to further business with you, Mr. Winchester,” Ketch says. His smile is just a tiny bit wry but the hand clasping Sam’s is warm and sure, and it’s all he can do to keep the memories of where that hand had held him last night at bay._

_“Thank you, Mr. Ketch,” and he’s impressed his voice is still steady, “I’m certain there will be opportunities for further trade in the future.”_

Ketch’s smile had widened at that, Sam remembers. He bites his lower lip hard and rubs at his still-bruised wrist before he carefully unfolds the little piece of paper.

It contains a phone number, a time and what he recognizes as the address of the _Letter’s Club_ , along with a single line in neat handwriting.

_I’ll be waiting at the bar, little Alpha._

It takes him less than a minute to decide.

In Ketch’s defense, none of this was planned.

Well. The meeting with the Winchester family was planned, and he’s been plotting how to get Sam to visit the _Letter’s Club_ again pretty much since the man sat down across from him at a conference table, smiled and proceeded to thoroughly impress him – but last night wasn’t planned.

Last night was – he saw a frankly gorgeous man walk into his club and sit down and drink, and he saw the purple glowstick that told him his approach _might_ be welcomed, and he’d been tense and on edge because of the whole Winchester meeting and he’d wanted a distraction.

Jay – _Sam_ had been that, and more. Ketch still remembers vividly how it felt to pin him to the door, the bed, feel all that strength and skill go lax, _obedient_ for him. He shifts and resolutely doesn’t reach down to adjust his dick.

He’s been nursing his drink for the past half-hour, hoping Sam found his little note, hoping the other Alpha is willing to meet him again, now with all their cards open on the table.

He’d be taking a risk, but considering he visited a club last night, one located in the city a rival organization holds, by himself speaks of a personality that enjoys taking a risk or two.

Still, something in Ketch that he hadn’t even noticed was wound tight relaxes when he notices Sam stepping into the room, navigating his way to the bar. Once he spots Ketch, he doesn’t look away until he’s reached the empty spot next to him. He looks nervous now, in a way he hadn’t yesterday or this morning when they faced each other over the conference table.

“Hello Sam,” Ketch uses his foot to nudge the stool next to his in invitation, “I’m glad you came.”

“You invited me,” is the soft reply, but Sam takes the offered seat, folding his hands on the bar after a moment. “I... you didn’t use last night to try and blackmail me today, so I thought I could take the risk.”

Ketch decides that needs to be set right immediately. “I had no idea who you were last night Sam,” he says softly. “All I knew was that you were attractive and you wore purple and I wanted you. Mick only showed me the file with your photo this morning. Nearly inhaled my coffee.”

Sam blushes, but there’s a smile lurking around his mouth. It’s an expression Ketch finds he likes.

“So… is Art what you go by in your free time, or did you just give me your name and were lucky I didn’t recognize you?”

Ketch laughs and relaxes further. “No,” he admits. “I don’t like my given name. I’ve been going by my last name for as long as I’ve had a say in the matter, but people react strangely if you tell them to call you by your last name in bed.”

Sam snorts and nods. “I can imagine.” He tilts his head, the smile more prominent now. “I propose a deal: you don’t call me Samuel and I won’t call you Arthur. I’ve been calling you Ketch in my head for weeks preparing for this, I can keep doing that.”

“Deal,” Ketch agrees immediately, relieved. Sam grins, looking equally relieved.

“Good, because Dean and Bobby are the only ones who get away with calling me Samuel.”  
The barkeeper walks up to them and looks at Sam expectantly, then reaches for glass and bottle when Sam orders bourbon.

“On me,” Ketch says before Sam can reach for his wallet, and the barkeeper shrugs and nods.

“Whatever you say, Ketch.”

Sam blinks at his drink and then at Ketch. “…thank you,” he finally manages. “I shouldn’t be surprised they know you here, should I?”

“Probably not,” Ketch agrees, grinning a little. “It’s my club after all.”

Sam blinks again, then laughs. “And here I was, thinking I was a right bastard, what with leaving you with the bill for the room.”

Ketch takes in the relaxed way Sam sits on his stool, the gleam in his eyes and how his smile stretches his lips. “Well,” he begins, watching as Sam sips his drink. Fuck, he wants to lick that taste out of Sam’s mouth. “You could always repay me on your knees. Or your back.”

Sam’s eyes widen, then darken. “Oh?” he asks, his voice a little deeper than before. “I could, but then we’d have to pay for another room…”

Ketch smirks. “I’m sure I could arrange a lower price with the owner,” he tells Sam just to see him grin. “Coming?”

Sam downs the rest of his drink and slides off the barstool. “Oh, I hope so… sir.”

And fuck if that doesn’t go straight to Ketch’s cock. He grabs Sam’s wrist and starts making his way through the club guests. “We’ll see, little Alpha.”


	3. Pine And Wood Smoke And Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for SPN A/B/O Bingo for the square Pine, Wood Smoke, Snow

It’s still early, so the lobby between club and rooms is still empty. Ketch is more than happy with that since it allows him to drag Sam close and wrap an arm around him, hold him close.

“Any requests for me?” he asks, pulling up the list of available rooms with Sam tucked into his side. He prides himself on accommodating every level of kinky, though some are locked unless you can provide proof you know what you’re doing. He won’t have serious injuries in his club, thank you very much.

Sam shakes his head, peering at the screen. “Not yet,” he murmurs. “A bed would be nice, though.”

Ketch grins and selects a room that does come with ropes and padded cuffs but isn’t obvious about it. “Sam, all these have a bed. That’s the minimum requirement.”

Sam laughs. It’s a sound Ketch thinks he could get used to. “Pick up the key card and let’s go, Alpha,” he purrs. “I want you.”

Well, when put like that… Ketch snatches up the card and practically drags Sam to the elevator, accompanied by his partner’s laughter.

Sam smells _delicious_ , Ketch decides, crowding the taller Alpha against the door of their room as soon as it’s closed and locked behind them. Sam goes easily, which does things to Ketch’s blood pressure that shouldn’t be healthy. He scents Sam’s throat greedily, feels the other man’s breath hitch in his chest.

“Did you pop a scent blocker last night, little Alpha?”

He can feel Sam nod. “Didn’t want to risk anyone catching my scent,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “I’m recognizable that way.”

Ketch has to agree. He’s a little better off, honey and blackberries aren’t that rare, the bourbon is the only remarkable thing about his scent, but snow, pine and wood smoke? He doesn’t know anyone who smells like a winter landscape. “Delicious,” he growls, licks the scent gland and feels Sam shiver before there are hands in his hair, dragging him up and into a kiss.

“I want you naked this time,” Sam purrs into his ear after he steals Ketch’s breath. “And then I want you to take me. I want to feel you tomorrow when I board the plane home, Alpha.”

Ketch groans and rocks into Sam once before he can stop himself. Then he steps back, ignoring the soft whine. “Get naked,” he growls, “and then get up on the bed, poppet.”

Sam scrambles to obey. Ketch watches as clothes go flying and Sam settles on his knees on the bed, his back straight and his eyes on him. Sam doesn’t say a word, but the message is clear: _your turn_. Ketch grins and starts with his suit jacket, peeling himself out of his clothes bit by bit. Sam’s eyes never leave him the entire time, and while Ketch usually doesn’t like being the focus of such close attention when he’s not wearing his suit (his armor)… he doesn’t quite mind so much this time.

The slide of naked skin against naked skin is worth it.

His own scent mingling with Sam’s pine and wood smoke and snow is worth it.

Sam allows him to push him down onto the mattress, spreads his legs to make room. His big hands pull Ketch closer, pull him into another kiss.

It’s so easy to lose himself in Sam, his scent, his touch, that strong body beneath his own. It’s easy to touch and stroke, draw moans and hisses from him.

Sam presses a bottle of lube into Ketch’s hand between kisses, then makes the sweetest sounds while Ketch fingers him open. He keens when Ketch finally pushes in, wraps his legs around him and holds on, pine and wood smoke and snow surrounding them and mingling with his own scent, and something within Ketch _snaps_.

_I want to feel you tomorrow_ , he remembers as he pins Sam to the mattress, looks down into those dark, lust-filled eyes. “Going to fuck you now, little Alpha,” he growls. Sam nods, a low whine in his throat and his lower lip between his teeth.

Ketch smirks and starts to move.


	4. Your Idiot Is Falling For My Idiot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for SPN A/B/O Bingo for the square Everyone Knows Before They Do  
> Written for SPN Rare Ship Bingo 2020 for the square Smut.

_Four months after Pine And Wood Smoke and Snow_

Dean sighs as he reads Sam’s message. _Gone for two days, hold down the fort._

He sends an affirmative and then scrolls through his contacts until he finds Mick.

 _He’s back in your territory,_ he informs the other man. _Keep an eye out?_

Mick’s reply comes in while he’s looking through Sam’s tasks for the next two days. _Sure. Probably going to camp out in the hallway again._

Dean grins at the mental image of Mick Davies sitting on a sleeping bag in the hallway to Ketch’s apartment, keeping watch.

_Thank you, Davies._

_Return the favor next time mine goes running, Winchester._

It’s just sex, but it’s really damn good sex.

Ketch knows exactly how to handle Sam by now, knows when Sam needs a firm touch, needs to be taken apart and put back together. He knows when Sam needs to take the reins, needs to control every aspect of a scene.

Ketch looks _delicious_ wearing nothing but black leather cuffs around his wrists and ankles, sucking Sam’s cock as if it’s all he lives for.

That’s the image in Sam’s mind when he passes the road sign for Ketch’s hometown.

_Five months after Pine And Wood Smoke and Snow_

Sam gasps for breath as he comes all over his hand, three fingers of his other hand buried deep in his hole.

“Beautiful, little Alpha,” Ketch’s voice croons, and Sam smiles weakly as he flops back down onto his bed. He turns to the screen of his laptop just in time to watch Ketch come, too, though the other man is fully dressed and sitting behind his desk still. There was some sort of trouble last week that necessitated longer hours for him, and Sam finally decided to provide a distraction via the internet.

They catch their breath for a while, Sam comfortably cuddled into his blankets and Ketch behind his desk before the other Alpha clears his throat. “Thank you, Sam. I’ll come visit soon.”

“You’d better,” Sam tells him with a smirk. “You spoiled me, Alpha.”

_My idiot is moping. Please tell me yours is free soon._

Dean looks over Sam’s schedule and smirks.

_What do I get in return for that info, Mick?_

His phone chirps with the answer within seconds.

_My firstborn. Cuban cigars. Whatever, just please tell me he’ll get laid soon._

Dean laughs and texts him the dates. The heartfelt _Thank fuck_ makes his day.

_Six months after Pine And Wood Smoke and Snow_

Ketch nibbles along Sam’s throat, smirking when he hears that little hitch in the other man’s breath. “Ready for more, pet?”

Sam nods. He can’t speak very well around the gag in his mouth, a pretty black ball gag that makes him pout so beautifully. It matches the black ropes tying him into position and to the bed… and the black leather of the crop Ketch picks up now.

“I’m going to wreck you, little Alpha.”

Sam moans, watching eagerly as Ketch taps the crotch against his palm before laying the first hit. It draws a high noise out of Sam that has his cock twitch.

“Next time, I’ll blindfold you.”

It was a really good idea to do this in Sam’s home, Ketch thinks as he circles his bound lover, deciding on his next target. He feels safe here, and it’s worth the travel to see Sam like this.

Dean leans back in his chair and plonks his feet down on his coffee table, waiting for Mick to pick up.

“What,” the other man asks as soon as he does, sounding exhausted. Dean feels bad for calling this late, but he needed to make sure Sam’s down for the night.

“’s me, Mick. We need to talk.”

“I know.” A yawn echoes down the line. “The fucking bartender of the _Letter’s Club_ asked me when the fucking wedding was two days ago. The secretarial pool has _betting pools_ on the date, who pops the question, and where. I’m going crazy while my idiot is fucking oblivious.”

Dean snorts. He’s been fielding similar questions lately. “Sam’s carrying his scent Mick,” he says softly. “Not really noticeable yet, but I know my brother’s scent.”

“Fuck,” Mick groans. “He oblivious, too?”

“So damn oblivious,” Dean sighs. “Plans?”

“I’m drawing up contracts to merge organizations,” Mick says dryly. “Want to do this on the phone or come down next time your idiot visits?”

Dean shrugs and lets his head fall back to look up at the shadowy ceiling. “Bobby knows. Hell, I think the whole damn organization knows,” he admits. “He can hold down the fort. I’ll come down and help.”

“I’ll buy the bourbon,” Mick promises.


	5. Mine (Yours)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for SPN A/B/O Bingo for the square Public Claiming/Mating.

Sam stretches, feeling pleasantly sore in all the right places. “Come back to bed,” he calls in the direction of the ensuite. “I’m getting cold.”

“Spoiled brat,” Ketch calls back, but he does return shortly after, freshly washed and carrying a damp cloth. “Make room.”

Sam does, allowing the other Alpha to clean him up before he cuddles in. Ketch hums and wraps him in his arms, and Sam feels like purring in contentment.

“Can I ask why Dean is here this time?” Ketch asks quietly, his fingers busy playing with Sam’s hair. Sam shrugs.

“He said he had business with Mick,” he murmurs, shifting his head a little so Ketch’s fingers reach the perfect spot. “No idea if they’re fucking now or what.”

Ketch snorts. “Now that’s a mental image I could’ve lived without.”

Sam laughs.

Mick doesn’t look quite awake when Ketch finds him, still hunched over his laptop. There’s a half-empty cup of coffee at his elbow and an empty bottle of bourbon at the edge of his desk, along with two glasses.

“Long night?” Ketch asks with a grin and earns a half-hearted glare.

“Could ask the same,” his second in command returns dryly. “Going by that disgustingly satisfied smirk on your face.”

Ketch’s grin widens. “Younger lovers, Micky. Or is Sam right and you’ve caught yourself a Winchester, too?”

Mick finally looks up from his laptop, startled. “How the fuck did he get _that_ idea into his head?”

“Well, Dean did spend his night here.” Ketch points at the empty bottle. “I can still scent him, Mick. What was so important you’ve been here the whole night with Dean Winchester?”

“If you can still scent him, you also know we didn’t fuck,” Mick grumbles. “And he wanted my legal input on a contract he’s drafting. Organization will probably merge soon, the marriage contract’s already been printed.”

The warm feeling in Ketch’s chest disappears like fog in the sun. “Marriage contract?”

“Mhmm.” Mick returns to his work, seemingly unaware he’s just turned Ketch’s world on its head. “Sam doesn’t know yet, but Dean likes to be prepared.”

 _Sam doesn’t know yet_. That sentence is pretty much what allows Ketch to cling to his control by his fingertips. Sam didn’t lie to him, didn’t play him. But the idea of someone else – no matter if they’re Alpha, Beta or Omega, man or woman – touching Sam, getting to hold and kiss him, has him see red.

Sam is _his_.

Ketch blinks, trying to shake the possessive thought, and finds that he can’t. He tries to remind himself that they made zero promises to each other, that he doesn’t even know if Sam _wants_ to be his – and the thought of Sam’s rejection hurts in a way he’s never experienced. Instincts surge up he has ignored until now, sharpen his senses o the point where he can tell that while Mick and Dean didn’t necessarily have penetrative sex, _someone_ did have fun in this room recently. He can smell the sugar and milk in Mick’s coffee, the leftover bourbon dried in the bottom of a glass… and Sam’s pine, wood smoke and snow scent twined with his own.

 _Twined_. Not a layer of scent that clings to his skin or his clothes from their _until-next-time_ kiss this morning. It’s too heavy, too intense for that.

_I am a blind, stupid fucking useless excuse for an Alpha._

Ketch turns and stalks out of the room, intent on finding the younger Alpha. There’s something close to panic in his chest, throbbing with each heartbeat. Sam is _his_ , that is non-negotiable – he can’t lose his mate to marriage politics.

He doesn’t notice Mitch’s smirk, or that his second in command picks up his phone to send a short message.

_He’s on his way._

Sam is a little cross with Dean… or, more accurately put, Sam is _pissed_ that his brother decided they had to return home so damn early. When he visits on his own, he usually flies or drives back somewhere around mid-day, which allows for a nice nap first.

Ketch usually keeps him up all night. In both senses of the word.

“How the fuck are you that awake,” he growls at his brother. “I was wrong, you’re not fucking Mick. You’d be less bloody awake if you were.”

Dean snorts. “Some of us know when to stop and sleep, Sammy.”

Sam growls again and resigns himself to a car ride with a happy, loud Dean on too little sleep. Even Ketch’s scent lingering in his clothes doesn’t help because that just makes him want to be back in the man’s warm, comfortable bed.

He’ll later blame being tired and the knowledge that he’s always been safe in  
Dean’s presence for the fact he doesn’t notice Ketch practically run up the street until the Alpha is within arms’ reach. The spike of adrenaline has him awake more effectively than any coffee, but before he can even ask what happened, Ketch has grabbed him and is pulling Sam against his chest, holding him tightly. Sam stiffens, confused.

“…Ketch?”

“ _Mine_ ,” the man growls, his voice so rough Sam shivers before the meaning of the word gets through. He waits for the surge of anger, of denial that has _always_ before welled up when anyone tried to claim him like that… but it doesn’t come.

“What the fuck dude,” Dean complains, and Sam can feel the vibration under his palms when Ketch growls at his brother. It’s an unmistakable threat, all angry Alpha. Sam wants to ask what he hell happened to have Ketch this worked up, but Dean huffs and backs away. That is…

“What the hell is going on, Ketch?” he asks softly. “Please, talk to me.”

Ketch’s arms go even tighter around him, his whole body tense. Sam follows that soft whisper of instinct that tells him to go pliant in his hold, bends his head to nuzzle at Ketch’s cheek. It seems to work after a moment, because the low growl stops, and Ketch turns to scent at Sam’s throat instead.

“Can’t you scent it, Sam?” There’s still a hint of that roughness in Ketch’s voice, but it’s calmer now. “Please, I need you to be on the same page here.”

Sam frowns. He breathes deep, consciously scenting the air. There’s a hint of Dean’s scent, a hint of Mick Davies and coffee, car exhaust and the smells of a city… but overwhelming all of that is Ketch’s scent, honey and blackberries and bourbon and pine and sn… wait a second.

Sam buries his nose against Ketch’s throat, against his _skin_ , and scents again. “…you’re carrying my scent in your skin,” he breathes as implications start piling up in his head. It’s dizzying.

“And you’re carrying mine.” There’s satisfaction in Ketch’s voice. “ _Mine_ , Sam. My mate.”

 _Mate_. The word resonates within Sam until the world falls away. He forgets they’re standing in front of a hotel on a busy street, within easy view of several tall office buildings. He forgets his brother is standing a few feet away. All that matters is the Alpha who holds him so tightly.

“Yes,” he whispers, feels Ketch shudder. “Mate.”

Sam’s not wearing a suit today, but Ketch is. While his mate mouths at his throat, trails little nips along his scent gland, Sam claws at his shirt collar and tie. His heart is racing, his skin feels too small. His cock is a burning line in his pants, and he gives a soft moan of relief when Ketch presses him against something cool and hard and pushes a thigh between his legs.

The tie finally gives way, as does the shirt collar. Sam zeroes in on Ketch’s scent gland, licks over the skin and revels in the moan it earns him.

“ _Now._ ” It’s a rough growl between them that could have come from either Sam or Ketch. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that sharp teeth dig into his skin, into his scent gland, as warm skin gives way beneath his own teeth. He’s riding his mate’s thigh, coming in his pants like a teenager.

Ecstasy tastes like honey and blackberries, bourbon and pine, wood smoke and snow.

Mick jogs up to Dean, who’s watching their two idiots with a wry expression.

“Looks like I don’t have to ask if it worked,” he quips.

“Worked,” Dean agrees, shaking his head. “And we can forego the official announcement. This is gonna be on youtube faster than you can say _fuck_.”

Mick snorts. “Dean, everyone working in those buildings pretty much works for us. Nobody’s going to upload shit if they value their existence.”

“Good,” Dean grunts, then tilts his head. “So, how do we get these two into a room?”

Mick’s face falls. “ _Fuck._ ”


End file.
